The Last Weasley
by WarpedTenchu
Summary: My name is Tristan, Tristan Weasley and I’m the eighth Weasley that nobody talks about anymore. The story sound familiar? Well, it shouldn’t, because I’m not Percy. That miserable git left his family by himself. I would never abandon my family. Family is
1. Chapter 1

The Last Weasley

The Last Weasley

My name is Tristan, Tristan Weasley and I'm the eighth Weasley that nobody talks about anymore. The story sound familiar? Well, it shouldn't, because I'm not Percy. That miserable git left his family by himself. I would never abandon my family. Family is everything, without family you have nothing. That was what my parents drilled into me when I was young. It's funny it's it? How parents never do as they preach.

I grew up contentedly beside my red-haired brothers, ate from the same table, played in the same gnome-infested gardens and received the same slightly hideous kitted jumpers for Christmas (although none of us will admit is because _mother dearest_ made them for us). In every family, there are various personalities and our family was no different (Fred and George are the only exception; them being twins gives them freakishly similar personalities). I was the quiet bookworm and I was almost always buried in one of my numerous books, which were consequently littered around the room I shared with Percy, my younger twin brother. The only similarities we shared were our birthdates; we didn't even look the same, although that may have something to do with the fact that we were fraternal twins and not identical twins. However, we were both Weasleys and therefore had the same flaming red hair and freckled complexions.

I spent my time as an observer and as a result, my personality was rather withdrawn. For some 'obscure' reason as my Quidditch-obsessed brothers called it, I preferred the quiet shade and a good book to getting a wedgie while riding on a broomstick. There was something soothing about drifting off into a different world, while nestled comfortably under the protection of an ancient willow that attracted me. Not that I didn't know who the Chudley Cannons were.

The family became slightly different when it started to send off its sons. Relationships became somehow strained, but never to the point of breaking. It was Bill first. Hard-working, down to earth Bill was gone, and for months at a time, coming home every second holiday at the most. Dragon-obsessed Charlie went next. The constant bombardment of ancient reptile facts was silenced. Without them the house was not much quieter due to the mischievous twin toddlers declaring war on each other at the dinner table and using food as ammunition and later, the birth of Ron who constantly woke the family up at night with his screaming. However through those nights, I was constantly awoken by other troubles. I was next.

Hogwarts was a worry that constantly plagued my mind. I would have to leave home, have to be thrust into a new, unfamiliar place with cold stone walls and hundreds of people. I didn't like the thought of it. I would have to depart from my current, comfortable lifestyle and adapt. It goes without saying that I dislike change. In fact, I hated it. Hate in its most extreme form. It was not until many years later, I discovered I had a form of autism. I spent weeks, months even dreading the day where I would board the Hogwarts Express and so I threw myself into a frenzy of activity. I studied. First I flew through Charlie's old first year books, then I moved onto Bill's second year books and then eventually I started spending more time at Flourish and Blott's then at home. The book keeper did not bother me and seemed to sense that I was better off left alone. Occasionally I would ask him for help on a word I did not understand and every evening as he started to close the store he would ask me to leave. I, polite, as always would close the book I was reading, remember the page number and re-shelf it. One day I worked up the courage to ask him if I could stay a little while longer and help. Home was becoming unbearable because Charlie and Bill were back with incessant talk of Hogwarts. Mr. Willow, the greying book-keeper smiled, his eyes twinkling gave me a stack of 1800 Warlock History books to put away.

"Now that goes" he began.

"Row E Section 5 Self 310" I interrupted. He began to grin.

"So, you think you know my store better than me do you?" Mr. Willow said in a teasing manner.

"No Sir, but almost just as well I believe, for I am certain that 'Heroes of the Muggle World" does not belong in the romance section." I was looking at the book that Mr. Willow was shelving absent-mindedly. He growled good-heartedly as I ducked a swipe and went to re-shelf the history books.

Sometimes after we had put everything away, Mr. Willow would conjure up two cups (earl grey tea for him and hot chocolate for me) and we would discuss history, politics, philosophy, arithmetic and once during seventh year the ridiculousness of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. That was one topic we never talked of again, for as if his name was a summoning charm, Gilderoy Lockhart walked into the store long after closing time and asked if we wanted his autograph. Mr. Willow was also forced to accept a book signing contract. The next day at the store was hell, because witches dressed in their finest had come to get his autograph with no concern for the books that were being toppled onto the floor.

Even after my life drastically changed, Mr. Willow was still there and I continued to keep in touch with him throughout my entire life. With him and his store I felt at peace. This feeling that was fleeting because _that date_ was fast approaching.

I felt like throwing up while walking across platform 9 3/4 to reach the bright red train. The suffocating sense of claustrophobia was beginning to set in. There were too many people, too many, hugging, crying people. I was glad Percy was there for he unconsciously became my last link to 'familiarity'. With a brief hug for me and a somewhat longer one for Percy, we were pushed onto the train.

"Off to a new adventure." I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Obviously my twin didn't catch the venom saturating my voice because he replied rather enthusiastically.

"It'll be awesome! Can you believe it? Hogwarts, finally! Quick let's go find an empty compartment."

We found a compartment within three minutes. While standing at the door, I saw the welcoming faces of other first years.

I felt like that act of knocking on the compartment door was akin to knocking on Hell's gate.


	2. Train Rail to Hell

Chapter two Train Rail to Hell

Chapter two Train Rail to Hell

'_All I need is the air I breathe and a place to rest my head."_

_ -One Republic_

The entire trip was indescribably difficult; horrendously difficult. I sat closest to the window in high hopes of easing my misery. It was not to be. I was shut in the same compartment with four impossibly enthusiastic people who would not shut up about what lay at the end of the train trip.

"I heard there's a giant squid in the lake!" My twin's excited voice penetrated through the fuzzy wave of nausea that was threatening to overcome me.

I had to fight it. Throwing up in the garbage can was okay, but throwing up in public places was not. I knew that. I had learnt my lesson from a family outing that my parents had once dressed me up and forced me to attend.

There were _so many_ people that day. So many mingling bodies consorting, entwining and dancing around. I told them I had felt sick; that I wanted to go home. But they did not pay much attention to the white shade of my face that was slightly illuminated in yellow by the flickering lamps. They _should_ have noticed my pale complexion, because my seven year old self chose the most inappropriate time to release all that tension.

While we walked around the carnival, with bewitched 'child-safe' brooms flying just inches above adult heads, anxiety built itself up in a pit at the bottom of the stomach while I was raging an internal battle against claustrophobia. I tried hard for the first entire two hours. I smiled. I 'enjoyed' the rides and 'eagerly' devoured various wizard confectionaries. By the end of the two hours I was getting tired, my brothers, thankfully were also tiring. I was almost at the night's end. Almost. Yet, Fate decided to play me a cruel hand. Just as we were leaving, a blonde man came with his wife and sleeping child in tow. My head was spinning. I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but I did know that whatever the blonde man said riled up my parents and angered my older brothers, whom had less self-control. My own self-control slipped for a fraction of a second while they were having their heated argument. But that little millisecond was all it took.

I vomited up all over the designer brand dress robe that Narcissa Malfoy was wearing.

And my parents never forced me to join them in any outings again.

For that notion, I am grateful, yet at the same time, a little sad. That one, small slip meant that for every succeeding monthly moon festival, my parents did not bother to wake me up from my afternoon nap early. _Even just to say goodbye. _They just left me to sleep in ignorance as they left to attend. The first time they did that, I remember waking up very scared. I thought they had abandoned me. A normal, rationally thinking mind would have known that normal parents don't abandon children in their own homes. But that evening, I felt so utterly helpless. Everything suddenly lost its colour and I was very aware that I was standing alone in an empty house. I really thought that everything was over.

There was one thing that saved my sanity that night. One small, insignificant thing.

A note.

_Went to festival, will be back soon._

I still remember how tightly I held on to that note as I quietly began sobbing. After eating and brushing my teeth; all while the note was still firmly glued to my person, I went up to bed, clutched the note and cradled that hand against my chest. _**Will be back soon**__. _They were coming back. I later recalled thinking. They were coming back. My world was still intact. My family was still there. I was not alone and most importantly; I still had this 'safe' place. This place; which housed familiar scents and familiar faces.

"And this is Tristan, my twin." The combined force of my brother's voice and the calling of my name jolted me from my reverie. My head snapped to look towards the people occupying the opposite seats.

"You don't look like twins!" said a blonde boy with baby blue eyes, whose name I did not bother to remember.

_We're fraternal twins_. _Idiot. _I said quietly in my head.

"We're fraternal twins!" My twin answered for us with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. "Isn't it cool?"

"Yeah, that's awesome!" the brunette beside the blonde said with a voice full of awe.

That exclamation was quickly followed by a lengthy discussion of the four Houses. I equally quickly turned my head towards the window and began to zone out. My eyes also began to loose focus and the landscape blurred into an abstract painting of vivid green shades.

When I woke up I felt a little better and spent the rest of the trip silently nibbling the snack that mom made for us and staring at the shapeless pieces of landscape. The scenery became darker and darker as the train approached Hogwarts.

When I first saw the castle, I thought it was threatening. I still do. That immense hulking figure loomed over the horizon and the great white moon behind it gave it an eerie glow. It reminded me of the written portraits of Azkaban prison. The solitary stone building was surrounded by a cold, unforgiving sea and the people inside; harsh, like they were carved from ice. The castle's glowing windows were like menacing yellow eyes; unblinking.

I was terrified and the suppressed waves of queasiness came back with a startling vengeance. Cold sweat began to drench my body as I numbly began walking towards the giant Grounds Keeper.

"Does your brother ever speak?" One of Percy's newly acquired friends said in a whisper and walked only metres behind me.

"I-I" I heard him pause and his heavy breathing as he stopped to think.

"Um… I dunno, I think he normally is just really quiet." He eventually replied, uncertainty evident in his voice.

"Is he impaired or something?" Questioned one of my brother's surrounding friends.

"He's probably just speech deficient!" said another, sending the little group into fits of laughter.

My brother recovered from his stiches first, like he had _just_ remembered that the person they were poking fun at was his brother; his twin.

"Hey, be nice! He's my brother." Percy said, trying to sound firm, but laughter was making his voice waver.

I felt my face heat up and I wondered if it was actually possible of the human face to glow red with embarrassment. _I can talk! I can! I…just don't want to…_ My line of thought ended there. I didn't know why I was so 'anti-social' as I once hear my father describe it. I wanted to have friends. To be circled by people who would trust you and in return, you could trust them. I wanted that, but every time I tried, I felt the words dieing before they escaped my lips. That probably wasn't helped by the fact that I was almost always with at least one of my charismatic brothers. Next to them, I felt dull in comparison. My quivering little light was always diminished by their glorious flames that could light up an entire room.

It was at time like this, when I thought of Mr. Willow, the eccentric book keeper and his haven of books. He had once told me this:

"_The world is a place of harsh winds, Tristan and never-ending ocean. The people are like islands. Over time, some islands merge together and form bonds. Some are weak, some are strong. Some break within the first monsoon, some will stand for many millennia. And there are the special few that will evolve on their own and flourish like the world has never seen."_

His speech had been flowery, but his message was simple and clear; I, Tristan was not alone because others did not like me, I was alone because I chose to stand alone. After realising that his talk had sounded a little corny, he scowled and lightly his me on the head and sent me to rearrange another bookshelf. With Mr. Willow's, twinkling eyes in my mind and his word in my ears, I stepped onto the boat.

I sailed away to the castle full of anxious anticipation and only a slight bit of dread.


	3. The Night I Forgot

**Disclaimer: I don't own JK Rowling's Harry Potter. Tristan is mine. The plot is mine.  
Sorry this chapter's out so late, but I've been overseas in a very humid country and then school started, so I couldn't really think of anything to write (nor did I have the time) I wrote this during a Science double; which goes to sow how busy I am currently - !! School's soo boring!!**

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Chapter Three: The Night I Forgot

That little ball of regret lodged in my stomach was slowly, albeit with great ferocity, manifesting itself and continually mutating, distorting, until I was quietly shaking. I hoped no one noticed. Percy's little gang certainly did. They snickered rather loudly, and caused me to sharply turn my head towards them. They burst out laughing as soon as I re-swivelled my head to face the front. My face glowed with embarrassment and the unease within me grew. Doubts that I had driven to the deep corners of my mind broke the water's surface and came crashing down on me with a frightening intensity.

When the little boats docked on the shore, I spared a quick glance at the rest of the first years still getting out of the boat. Then, I disappeared into the shade of the tall trees I would later be told belonged to the Forbidden Forest. No one noticed me gone. I didn't expect anyone to. As long as no one noticed me, I could calm my convulsing urges in private the only way I knew how. Emptying out the acidic bile and the meagre breakfast I had managed to consume despite my nervousness. Lunch on the train, I of course had forsaken for the peaceful luxury called, 'sleep'.

I felt oddly refreshed as I stepped into line behind the eager first years. The rest of the night passed by me like it was set in slow motion and yet I didn't catch any of it. I stumbled up to the sorting hat when my name was called and I walked off the platform to the house that I felt was instinctively mine. I heard some form of cheering. Was it cheering? I could not tell as being generally shy I had never had the opportunity to walk across a stage where an audience would clap for me. I was so confused that night; lost in a vividly coloured trance that made me turn in circles and circles inside my head.

I remember crawling into bed, listening to the sounds of the other house members enjoying the 'welcome' party. That was all I remembered from that night. The all-important Sorting ceremony was that night, and that was all I could remember. It was all a blur. A horribly messed up blur.

I woke up the next morning with a relatively clearer head to a decorative Blackwood ceiling and green sheets. My usually slow ritual to wake up was forgotten as I startled myself awake and began assessing the immediate environment. I must have look rather odd. Awake and alone in the early hours of the morning sitting stiffly upright with wide eyes. I was in the _Slytherin _common room. Or at least what I thought was the Slytherin common room. My eyes darted about the room wildly in the hope I was hallucinating and that I was really in the Gryffindor common room, except something absurd had happened, like the house elves had accidentally dyed their blankets green in the wash. All I needed was some proof, some assurance that I hadn't just undone generations and generations of a Gryffindor legacy. My eyes fell upon an ornate crest carved into the bed post. A snake basking in the light that was hitting the wooden post lifted its head and opened one unblinking yellow eye. The wooden snake opened its mouth in what my barely functioning brain comprehended to be a yawn and fell back comfortably into sleep. I copied its example and buried my head in the pillow, hoping that when I woke, the lime green pillow would be a pleasant shade of red.

I tossed and turned, tried to force myself to sleep too, but nothing worked. I was still in a heavily green decorated room with silver trimmings and snakes, coiled into the décor. I was in Slytherin, the house hated by my forefathers and all my kin. How on earth had I forgotten _that_? How by Merlin's beard did my incompetent brain not register the shock that I should have felt when the mouldy hat yelled out Slytherin? Why was the only thing I could remember was a thick haze of red? I groaned and curled up in a ball under the sheets, I suddenly no longer felt clear-headed and waves of nausea that were once again threatening to overcome me.

Deciding to wake up rather than continue to linger in the horrid green room, I put on the black uniform, tainted by the Slytherin Symbol that was put out for me by the house elves. I walked quietly past my 'housemates'; though I dread to use that word. The Sorting Hat must have made a mistake. _Must _have made a mistake. These cannot be my housemates, absolutely cannot be. I felt like a timid little cat, in a snake's den. It felt so wrong. I was different again. Always different; always apart. Never the same, never one of them. _God dam it!_ Was I not a Weasley? Was I not born of the same womb as my brothers? Was I not of the same seed? Why the hell am I so strange? So alien?

I walked into a toilet cubical locked the door and hit my head against the cement wall. Who the hell am I? And while we question my identity, why don't we question my sanity too? Or if I'm even human? I laughed bitterly. A hollow echo that bounced of the brick walls. A private laugh; just me lost in my thoughts, my 'Twisted Kingdom', my maze, my hazy reality. It was not meant to be intruded on, not meant to be heard. But it was.

A knock on my door resonated throughout the bathroom.

"Are you okay mate?" An inquisitive voice both jarred my thoughts and annoyed me.

I stood up abruptly and in the same stride opened the door and stormed out. I didn't see his face, and he didn't see mine. Which was of course, what I had intended. My next move was to exit the Slytherin common room, but while at the top of the stair, I was momentarily stopped by the breathtaking beauty of the Slytherin common room. It wasn't some damp, mouldy dungeon that my brothers had told me of. Out the windows was a view of the mountains, the valley carved out between them and the glistening lake, with the sun's morning rays reflecting off the crystal water. There was a giant tree directly in front of one of the windows and it fractured some of the light coming through, forming a pattern on the green walls. The rest of the room seemed to be built to specifically accommodate and accent that wondrous light. The room was full of antique furniture that the pureblood children were probably accustomed to. But they did not look out of place, but rather added to the 'serene' atmosphere of the place.

I shook my head from my daze and continued on my path. I walked out of the Common Room and immediately when stepping out into the corridor, I felt the chill of the ground floor. The cold did not deter me. I walked forward, aimlessly, but very determined. And during these early hours of the morning, I was alone, surrounded by the vast, ancient walls of Hogwarts. The walls that scared me and slightly enticed me to discover the rooms they hid.

**Did you like it? If you did, leave a comment please. It will make my day! :) !**


	4. The First Day

Yo! Sorry about the slow update. School camp happened during the middle of writing this chapter, so it took me a while to get started again. But, here it is!

**Disclaimer:** Hogwarts, the Weasley family and anything else Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling

Reviews would be much appreciated!! :)

BTW the Scent of Blood may be updated in the Summer holidays (so december/january-ish)

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The First Day

_I ask myself "aren't you lost?"_

_-From Alumina by Nightmare_

I was late to my first class and it was Potions. It's almost impossible to get from the top of the Astronomy Tower to the dungeons in less than ten minutes and it took twenty minutes of profuse running down the steep and moving staircases for me to realise that. The first room I ran into was empty and as my stomach suddenly filled with butterflies, I realised that I had just entered room 201 and not room 210.

After running down the slightly damp corridor, I paused just for a second to recover my breath before opening the wooden door and was instantly bombarded by smells. The black haired teacher said "late," in a quiet, business-like tone of voice that warned of impending doom. He looked up from the book he was reading from behind his desk and first noted my Slytherin robes. I was allowed to walk a little further into the room, getting away with only saying, "Sorry sir, I got lost". He then noticed my locks of flaming red hair and the various freckles that littered my face. Suddenly, behind his obsidian eyes confusion dwelled until something within his mind clicked. He opened his mouth as if to say some sneering remark, but then he changed his mind.

"Tristan Weasley."

"Yes, sir" I hoped my voice wasn't wavering and showing what my shaking hands were.

"The instructions for the potion are on the board; please complete it before the end of class."

To others that might have been reasonable, but I quickly realised that it was a 40 minute potion and because I was 10 minutes late to class, I had only 35 minutes left; and counting.

"Sir, it's a 40 minute potion, I couldn't possibly…" The black-clad teacher held up his hand and motioned for me to stop talking. An inkling of surprise was evident on his face. He had obviously thought that I was just going to bulldoze my way straight through the lesson in a rush to finish it before the bell. Well, after reading about the consequences of such actions, I was most certainly was not going to attempt it.

"Do not argue with me Weasley, finish before the end of class or you will be getting detention on your first day." He turned and with a slight flourish of his robes went to reclaim his seat behind the teacher's desk.

My brother Percy and his little gang of friends were in pairs, sniggering at me and I felt my face flush. Pairs. Everyone was in neat little pairs and I was the odd one out. Again.

"Weasley, do you think you can finish your potion in the remaining 30 minutes? Or would you like to continue staring at your brother and serve detention with me?" His cold, callous voice cut me out of my haze of embarrassment and allowed me to occupy the last bench and back and begin to pull out my various textbooks and notebooks, the lure of words instantly pulling me in.

Forgetting was a naturally easy thing to do. Creating a Forgetfulness potion was too, if you had 40+ minutes and a partner. It was impossible, virtually impossible to finish such a concoction and have it by some miracle actually work. There were quite a few ingredients although the steps weren't that complex, as it was a First Year's potion, but I needed _time_. My head began to hurt. The incessant chatter of my classmates began to sound like a high-powered drill, driving itself further and further into my head.

I felt the teacher's black eyes staring at my head and the eyes of my brother, full with mirth. The stress of the situation was getting to me and making me forget how to momentarily read. _Hang on. _The stress was making me _forget_. Perfect. The first half of the potion was all about creating a chemical that would allow the brain to be in a state for things to be forgotten. That part in its entirety would take me 30 minutes, which was practically all the time I had left. However, as the cogs in my brain began furiously churning and commanding my motor muscles to move, I realised that I could substitute that section of the potion with a simple Stress potion, which would only take me 15 minutes.

After slicing my hand a couple of times with the silver knife, the Stress potion was ready. It was a pearly white solution with a hint of red; my blood. Hoping that my blood wouldn't have an affect on the potion, because at current, there was no possible way to filter it out, I quickly proceeded to work on the next half of the potion.

I had fallen into a methodical trance, slicing in a rhythmic fashion and then placing the ingredients into the cauldron. I stirred when the instructions dictated it right to do so and only briefly glanced at my potion that was turning a pleasant, although some what light, shade of purple.

"Time's up!" That cold, callous voice cut through the furiously working room and caused panic that spread throughout like wildfire. I had just enough time to add a few herbs to improve the taste when the Professor swooped down with his vile and suspiciously examined a portion of my potion. _Taste was important. _Why else would anyone even bother to drink it? Taste is the difference between deciding to use a potion and finding/creating a spell. And as an avid supporter of potions, or rather cooking, my mother made sure that message was imprinted clearly in my head.

I was packed up by the bell and ran out of the classroom with a little more speed than dignity demanded.

The rest of the day passed for me like an incoherent blur, much like Sorting night. My memory was hazy and had large patches where I couldn't remember anything. It was so _irritating._ It was so _confusing._ My mind then, out of the need to fill in the voids left by the memory loss, fabricated some.

I remember having a pleasant chat with Charlie, who was in Fourth Year, while walking towards the Great Hall for lunch. I remember pleasant laughing and a pleasant encounter with Bill, the Prefect. But now I was walking along in an empty corridor heading towards what I thought was the _Slytherin _common room and something didn't feel right. Something felt false and misplaced. That 'something' weighed heavily and brought about the sense of wrongness and filled my stomach with anxious butterflies.

I glimpsed Charlie's stocky build and blaring red hair and decided to confide in him. In the past, I had often done that. He was nice to talk to. He understood when I didn't want to talk and would instead fill the silence with mystifying dragon facts. He also understood when I did want to expel the thoughts in my head and he would always patiently listen and gently cock his head to the side to contemplate my troubles and produce a useful resolve.

_Yes. _Charlie was the one I wanted to talk to right now. Charlie would know what was happening.

And Charlie would know what to do.

I quickened my pace and ended up running to catch up with his much longer strides. When I was a step behind him, I reached out an arm that was quivering, for reasons I did not know and grabbed on to the sleeve's material.

"Charlie."

He stopped abruptly when he heard my voice and recognised it. Then, he heard his raucous Gryffindor friends coming from around the corner, cheering and yelling Charlie's name like they had something important to say. It couldn't have been more important than what I had to say. _Family comes first. _That was important. Most important. The family motto engraved into generations of teachings and one that my father had passed onto me.

"Charlie, I-"

My voice stopped functioning when Charlie with out turning around to look at me, pushed me away to join his friends, a smile plastered on his face and laughter lines beginning to wrinkle.

HE PUSHED ME AWAY.

Pushed me away.

_Pushed me away._

It was my first, glorious day at Hogwarts. The day when excited, anxious little children begin their brilliant new adventure. It was my first day.

Only my first day.

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Your comment would brighten up my week, please take a couple of seconds from your day to write this aspiring writer a review and help her keep in touch with reality.


	5. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Ahh! Sorry peoples! I had this uploaded on my HPFF account and forgot to upload it here!! _ Sorry!!! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! the comments keep me happy and spur me to write more!!!

**Disclaimer: The HP universe belongs to JKR. Tris is mine!!**

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Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

"_Just continuing to believe isn't the answer. __If we don't expose our weaknesses and wounds and keep on struggling, nothing will start."_

_-From __**To the Other Side of the Door**__ by Yellow Generation_

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I began to slowly shut down as the back of Charlie's black robes swished around the corner and out of sight. The beautiful golden hall began to shrink and recede further away. Darkness and incomprehensibility filled the void it left in its wake. I was alone; standing in an endless black space.

"Hey!"

"Oi! You in there, mate?"

"Hello?"

A hand waved itself in front of my face. Another hand supported half my weight and gently eased me onto the ground. I couldn't feel the hand that pressed itself against my forehead. I couldn't feel the warmth of the other person's hand or feel the texture of their skin. I could only feel a slight pressure, a slight force spread across my forehead. Even that faint feeling however was being consumed by the overwhelming numbness conquering my body. I never bothered fighting it. I just let it take over and devour me.

* * *

_Where was I?_

My vision was half obscured by something sitting on my head; something that began to twitch and _talk_. I lifted my head slightly, momentarily ignoring the voice in my head and instead focusing on what was in front of me. A sea of faces and a multitude of invasive eyes prying, knocking against my mind and attempting to intrude into my inner space. A place where my consciousness sat, alone protected by walls of steel and fear. And to protect that consciousness, I lowered my head, adverted my gaze and began to concentrate on something else.

_So, finally ready to listen to me now, boy?_

Who on earth?

_I'm the hat, kid. The Sorting Hat._

I was having a mental conversation with a _hat_. The Sorting Hat. My brothers and parents had mentioned this to me, but the reality of it was still startling. I was used to gnomes on stubby little legs running from my mother after them with a gardening fork. I was used to jumpers knitting themselves and dishes cleaning themselves, rooms bigger on the inside than looked physically possible and my father creating miniature fire-breathing dragons for Charlie that would usually run amok and put something on fire. But, _this._ This was very new.

A hat that could hold an intelligent conversation was something that I had never encounted before.

_I count that as an insult, boy. Of course I can hold an 'intelligent conversation' as you so eloquently put it._

It also made me slightly nervous when I realised that it could pry into my mind effortlessly. Nervous and so very, very scared.

_Don't worry, little boy. I will never tell. By the Four Founders I swear it. This discussion of your mind is for us alone. For you, me and your future alone._

I breathed in deeply, providing the much needed oxygen to my lungs that until then had been only able to access short, frenzied gulps of air.

_Now then. Shall we begin?_

Waiting at my mind's gates, the hat waited patiently and slipped through the iron bars as soon as a little crack opened. It glided through the abyss of my mind like a well mannered guest, but a guest that would get what it had come for nonetheless.

_Fear. That seems to be the most predominate emotion. An ocean of fear and at its centre is an island. A little island guarded by the black, drowning water of fear. Shall we take a closer look?_

_**No!**_ Fear drove me. Made me pursue the hat's shadow flying over the water. The hat's journey over the water was easy. Mine wasn't. The hat probably wasn't deterred by the personal terror locked in the cold waters, but I certainly was. Terrifying, grief-ridden waves threatened to drag me down, but a greater fear propelled me forward. A fear of the unknown.

That little island was my black box. My innermost and most private self lay there; buried, always buried, locked in silence by the sea and its dark, endless waters. I had never talked to him. Never conversed with him. He just dwelled there, manifesting and creating himself from my deepest and darkest desires, ambitions, thoughts and feelings. A 'secret' me that no one must touch. _**No one.**_

The hat's ghostly form reached the island and someone screamed. It was my mind; screaming in panic, anguish and rage. I covered my face with my hands. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to face him. The 'he' that was also 'me'.

_Look. Look at him. Look at yourself._

The hat undermined my ability to control my hands and slowly pried them away, while I continued to struggle, fight and squirm.

_This is you._

His face had all my physical features. Green eyes, tinged with a brown that was similar in colour to gold. Flaming red hair that always stuck upwards in an uncontrollable fashion. Freckles littered over a face with high cheek bones and a firm jaw line. But he couldn't be me. _Couldn't be._

Those eyes were two cold, glittering, seductive pools filled with a strange, wild and fierce light. It frightened me and enticed me. I wanted to reach out and touch the face that was mine and not yet mine. And I understood that it would be like touching a stranger that felt part of me; identical to me. A face filled with a warrior's pride and honour. A glorious person. Different, and so very splendid/magnificent. A world apart from the timid and shy self that I was currently.

_This is who you will be. Who you _should_ be._

I broke from my other self's hypnotic gaze and turned to look at the hat; confused.

Sensing my question, the hat began to explain, what my fear had hidden from me for so long.

_You have always been overshadowed by your brother's have you not? Always sat quietly in the background, always suppressing yourself. You believe that your brothers are special, that they have great, wonderful individual talents and personalities and they have the right to shine. Their inherent boisterous natures and the many siblings you have made it very easy to be swallowed up didn't it?_

_You tried didn't you? When you were younger. Tried so very hard to be part of that happy, always happy family. Tried to put your emotions into a string of comprehensible words and sentences. They laughed didn't they? They found your stuttering '_cute' _and '_adorable'. _They didn't sense your desperation. They didn't lend you a helping hand. Didn't stop to make sense of your jumbled words. They just made you chase after them; them and their unrelentless pace. When you fell down, you had to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and keep on running after them. When you realised screaming after them and telling them to wait was futile, you stopped and quietly continued, urgently chasing them, on a road that seemed never ending. _

_Why won't you stop chasing them? Why won't you make your own path? Instead of stepping in footprints you will never fill? You will only kill 'yourself' in the end. You will tire and you will collapse and the only thing you will have accomplished is running on a very well-worn track._

Shut Up!

_In Gryffindor, you will be trampled by them. You will never grow. You will never change. In Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, you will be pushed aside by them. Still chasing after them but on a different road. A road that still ultimately leads to their backs._

No! No. No. No!

_You are like a plant that cannot find the right soil to grow in. Cannot find the right place to bloom. In Slytherin, you will find everything you need._

No. No. Shut Up! Shut up! I just want to exist! That is enough. That will always be enough!

_Is that all you want to do? Exist? Or do you want to be great? Make them chase you? Make them stop and look on you with awe?_

I am not a Slytherin! I will never survive there!

_Slytherin is not as harsh as its reputation. The house believes in survival and fraternity above all else. They will push you. They will make you fall. And they will pick you up, dust you off and send you soaring. _

Liar! Lies. All Lies. Shut Up! Shut Up! Go away! Go away! _Please_, just go away.

_My decision is final._

Sorry again. Please be nice to me (and my forgetfulness) and leave me a review! :)

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	6. Return to Reality

Hello. I know I haven't updated in a long while, but my writer's block is clearing up, so hopefully (fingers crossed) chapters will be rolling out alot smoother.

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"A fantasy that overpowers reality is born when the mind tries to protect itself"

From "The King of Thorn" by Yuji Iwahara

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Return the Reality

"Do you think he's going to wake up?"

"This is getting boring..."

"Oh hush, he'll wake up soon."

I recognised that voice. It was the voice from this morning.

"See? He's waking up! He's twitching!"

I was not 'twitching' as the childish male voice phrased it. I was simply trying to synchronise my brain and nervous system with my motor muscles.

"No, he's not...hang on... that's definitely twitching."

It was a similar annoying voice and I was sorely tempted to open my eyes and glare at the owner of the voice, but waking up is not an easy process. It was slow and it was sluggish. I opened an eye and then another one. It took a while for my vision to clear and I was momentarily stunned by the blurry haze that blinded my eyes. When it cleared I looked at two identical, but not-identical faces, situated on either side of my bed.

"Hello, mate. How're you feeling?"

He kept talking, but my mind unconsciously zoned out and the previous events of today rushing back.

* * *

The day had passed for me like an incoherent blur, much like Sorting night. My memory was hazy and had large patches where I couldn't remember anything. It was so irritating. It was so confusing. My mind then, out of the need to fill in the voids left by the memory loss, I realised, fabricated some.

"I remember having a pleasant chat with Charlie, who was in Fourth Year, while walking towards the Great Hall for lunch. I remember pleasant laughing and a pleasant encounter with Bill, the Prefect. But now I was walking along in an empty corridor heading towards what I thought was the Slytherin common room and something didn't feel right. Something felt false and misplaced. That 'something' weighed heavily and brought about the sense of wrongness and filled my stomach with anxious butterflies. "

I remembered what was wrong now. And I wondered how I could have forgotten.

* * *

It was not a 'pleasant' chat, in even the most perverse, twisted sense of the word. He ignored me for his Gryffindor friends and when I tugged at the sleeves of his robes and told him it was important, he pushed me aside into a little cupboard and told me that he would take care of it later. He also added that I should keep my mouth shut and not make my presence known when his friends came past. I didn't dare move in that little, dark, cramped space. I didn't dare.

After what seemed an age in that stuffy, small wooden cage and not until long after the happy procession had left, did I dare breathe. The air that rushed into my lungs, provided the much needed relief to my brain.

"Oi! Breathe mate! Just breathe!"

My eyes snapped open and two startled, worried faces stared back at me. My body was drenched in cold sweat and I was still trembling.

The other memory I suppressed rushed back to me.

_It had happened as soon as I stepped out of the cobwebby cupboard. Bill had seen the incident and pulled me aside. _

"_Look, I know you're just a First Year here, but you've got to understand that this isn't home. Things don't work the same here, got it? Charlie's got good reason not wanting to be seen consorting with Slytherins, and as a matter of fact, so do I. We've gotta hold up the Gryffindor legacy. We gotta be able to stand true to our house and hold our heads up high when we walk among our friends. You understand that don't you? Don't worry; just stick it out for the term and everything will go normal when we get home, alright?"_

_I nodded dumbly._

"_By the way, I think the hat made a mistake little bro. If the hat was in the right frame of mind, it wouldn't have put you in that evil, moldy house; it would've put you in Huffle- Gryffindor, I meant, sorry."_

_His arm reached out to grab my shoulder in a comforting manner. "Tristan, you can't help being who you are, so don't worry about it. It'll be fine."_

It will be fine. The words sounded so empty, ringing through my mind. Everything seemed so empty and devoid of its entire colour. Even this cluttered room. My train of thought came to an abrupt halt right there.

* * *

"Where am I?" my voice didn't sound like mine at all, but it had conveyed what I was thinking, so it must've been my voice.

"Yes, right introductions. Right, I'm Abel" said the black haired golden eyed boy on my right.

"My name is Cain", said the identical one on the left.

"And this is our very own hospital wing!"

My face must have displayed my disbelief, pretty bluntly, because after a short, awkward silence, the other twin shook his head and said, "he means 'sort of' hospital wing. Slytherins usually don't end up in the general hospital wing, unless for minor Quidditch scrapes and bruises, because those are usually the only ones we can explain."

"Also, since most Slytherins underneath the surface very personal people, we really dislike being displayed in a state of weakness in front of every John and Jane that walks in complaining of a snotty nose."

I didn't move my face muscles. I just stared at Abel and then at Cain, until the answer to my question walked through the door.

_Professor Snape_ crossed the room in a series of long, calculated strides and stopped at the foot of the bed that I was resting on.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhearing. This isn't the hospital wing. Cain. Abel. You two should very well know that by now. This is a spare room in my quarters and it is to be treated as such. But here, this will help clear your head a little."

He handed me a vial with a lime green fluid in it and promptly left the same way he came in.

"Don't let him misguide you." Cain said as soon as the Professor had left.

"This really is our make-shift hospital. Long story short; a couple of years back and student was too afraid to get a really nasty cut looked at 'cause he was scared that someone would start asking questions. The wrong sort of questions. The sort of questions that-"

"Cutting your long 'long story short' short, when the Professor found him slumped behind a statue, he took one look at the guy and escorted him to the dungeons where the spare room was given up for the boy to recover in. Since then, this one off incident has led to a magically expanded room with eight beds and a Potions Master who will constantly sigh and look exasperated at the influx of students hiding out in his quarters, but will never ever refuse to help one."

I looked at Cain incredulously.

"What? After all we're Slytherins. Honour. Fraternity. Survival. We live and die by that those three ideals."

They said the sentence together simultaneously, smiling, in a joking fashion, but from their eyes, I could tell. They meant every word.

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Again sorry about the lack of updates! As a writer, I am at my reader's mercy... leave a comment, please?


	7. The Left, Right and Centre

Yes, I am a very bad updater... I give you all permission to pelt me with rocks... Anyways, here it is!!!

Disclaimer: Me own Harry Potter? I wish...

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Chapter 7: The Left, Right and Centre

"It's okay to get lost so begin walking once again, once again"

- From _Kanashimi wo Yasashisa Ni_ by 'little by little'

* * *

"Since you were pretty out of it on Sorting Night, we'll recap the important bits of the party to you."

"Well, starting off, before anyone even got their hands on a decent drink, the prefects introduced the house system to the First years."

"Basically, we don't have a girls and boys dorm excluding the first year dorms. Instead we have a 'fraternity' system, and it's not gender based. There are three houses within Slytherin itself; _Hyarya_, _Forya_ and _Ened_. Respectively, they equate to 'left', 'right' and 'middle'."

"Forya, the 'Right' house is Slytherin's shield and sword. It's mostly filled with jocks and people who favour sheer strength over all else and believe power is everything. They've been known affectionately as the Gryffindorian idiots of Slytherin."

"Hyarya, the 'Left' house, is the one that whispers into Slytherin's ear. People with wit, and the intelligence to actually use their brains are in that house. They're like Ravenclaws, except they don't learn for learning's sake; bunch of evil geniuses in my opinion."

"Finally there's Ened, the 'Middle' house and it is traditionally considered as the embodiment of Slytherin."

"It's the house for everyone else and no one else. No one really quite understands the criteria to get into this house and it seems to merely exist for the sake of existing, but apparently it's very important."

I was confused. How then, if know one really understood what sort of persons made the third house did people get sorted?

"We'll be sorted again at the end of the year. And oh, yeah. The Sorting Hat lives in the Slytherin dorms."

I sat up straight. _That_ _thing_ is here?! The Sorting Hat was the last mouldy, wrinkled old thing I ever wanted to face again. I learnt then that either I was very bad at hiding my feelings or that Abel was simply very good at noticing them.

"You don't like the Hat much, huh? Don't worry, Cain doesn't much either. You should really hear the obscenities he screamed at it; never seen him so riled up over anything. Something along the lines of -"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Cain, by now had turned a pleasant shade of red and was waving his arms in the space between his twin and me.

"Anyone would dislike that meddlesome, prying, lice-infested, batty old thing! Every time it opens its mouth it gives itself an excuse to be hated!"

Abel started laughing.

"You should see the two going at it in the common room sometime; it is actually a 'ticket-attendance' event."

"Oi, oi! I'm your older brother aren't I? Give me a bit of respect Abel! Tristan probably thinks I'm an idiot now! _Everyone_ will at this rate!"

"Yes, yes" Abel replied sighing in a sarcastic tone, "oh mighty older brother, whom earns every shred of respect that I endow him -" Cain's glare cut him off, but Abel's laughter did not cease.

When Abel's laughs morphed into a hacking cough, the light atmosphere of the room was suddenly replaced by a different mood that I could not quite pin down.

"We'll take our leave now then and leave you alone to rest up."

"It's only Defence next and that Professor Litoise is the last person anyone wants to learn anything from, so skipping won't matter; just get better soon."

They let the room in high spirits and smiles that looked like they were compensating for some other emotion that they would not display.

* * *

I fell back into bed and stared at the ceiling. Strange, I thought. They were strange people. Something nagged at the corners of my mouth and an involuntary twitch led to a small smile gracing my face.

Over the next few weeks, I observed each twin carefully and learnt to tell the difference between them, like I had with Fred and George. They like my twin brothers took every advantage of their likeness and constantly switched roles, making it much harder to discern who was who. However through my hesitant and stuttering interactions with them, eventually the similarities began more and more to seem like differences.

Age wise, Cain was older by 4 hours 17 minutes and 3 seconds; a fact that every Slytherin learnt within three weeks and they were both roughly 4 months older than me.

Cain Alistair's natural manner was course, brash and his movements carried an air of reckless determination. Even when impersonating Abel, that air he could not hide nor replace. He was quick to yell; quick to pick fights and strangely enough he was always quick to admit wrong when proven incorrect.

The other Alistair twin was quiet and charismatic and his voice had an alluring quality to it; so much so that the common room would adjust its volume to hear him talk. He carried his head high in the manner of someone from an aristocratic background, much like his brother, but was far more deliberate in every move he made than Cain. The calculations behind every step always seemed effortless and near non-existent, and I had always that suspected that it was because he could not afford to waste any. I didn't understand why, but that was the impression I got from him.

The Alistair twins were formidable together; between them they had enough wit and cockiness to constantly infuriate any teacher they didn't respect. By the end of the second week, their timetables had been rescheduled again and again until they only had Potions, Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology together.

Unconsciously and slowly, I became comfortably wedged in between the two unyielding characters. It was nice and I felt safe, calm and one day, after weeks of not feeling sick and scared, I realised that although the looming, vast castle was still terrifying, the fear of it had lessen its hold on me and I had finally established a place to stand within its daunting walls.

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So what do we think? And I promise to update... soon-ish...

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	8. Head first Fearless

I know I haven't updated in a while, but I've been obsessed with making graphics lately... I know that isn't an excuse, but... on the upside I've developed a method of writing 300-400 words per night, so updates should come out a little faster.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, all rights belong to JKR.

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Chapter 8: Head First Fearless

As the weeks came by, I wedged myself further and further in the tiny gap between the Alistair twins. So much so that I became just a complimentary addition to their pair, but I was content to be just that. I attended classes, failed to be late to any of them and filled my spare time with study and books.

"Tris! Where's the history reference book you used for Binn's essay?"

"Cain, you do know that the 500 word essay is due tomorrow don't you?"

"Yea. That's why I'm doing it now. Book please!"

He held out his hand to reach for the book and without averting my gaze from the Transfiguration thesis I was editing, I handed it to him.

Cain stared at the book blankly and asked, "This is Abel's book."

"Uh huh." I replied absent-mindedly before making a couple of notes and changing the structure of a couple of sentences before finally looking up at Cain.

"Abel's the one who meticulously marks his books you know. You won't be able to find any notes in my book and I am not only certain that you would not be able to read the entire book within the next three hours, but that you were planning to cheat off me again, weren't you?"

He looked like a deer caught in the head-lights, pinned down by my blue eyes. The blue eyes were an anomaly. A trait that very rarely manifested itself within the Weasley family, but was a throw-back to some very distant ancestor.

"I do not cheat Weasley! I merely… take your work to a whole new level!"

"You mean to say that you take my essays and re-arrange the sentences, right?"

Cain proceeded to leave the dormitory in a huffy mood just as Abel walked in.

"What's up with my dear brother now?" Abel asked without really expecting an answer before noting that his book had disappeared off the common room table. He looked at me pointedly and I replied by pointing at the door.

Abel looked at me incredulously and with great exasperation before exclaiming "again!?" and racing after his brother.

I smiled lightly and let a small laugh escape my lips before shaking my head and continuing on with my essay. I dotted a few i's and crossed a few t's before realising they were l's and then feeling the irritating urge to re-write the sentence again in its entirety. Every so often I would become so dissatisfied with the messy, ink-stained scribble my essay had become that I would feel the urge to re-write the entire piece on fresh parchment.

And that was how I spent the first couple of weeks at Hogwarts. My head buried in books and algorithms and my mind too occupied with theories and histories for the idle brain to wallow in dread about the letter that my parents would or would not send when they had recovered from the shock of any child of theirs being in Slytherin.

Books and words. Sums, formulas, spells. History, dates… Books and words. Sums, formulas, spells. History, dates… Books and words. Sums, formulas, spells. History, dates…

My parents managed to respond to the news of my being in Slytherin in a little less than two weeks. I'm certain that they would have preferred to drag writing the letter a little longer, but after all, their _other_ son had to be congratulated.

_ Dear Tristan,  
We hope you are settling into Hogwarts well and that you are keeping up well with your studies of magic. Your mother writes to ask if you are eating well and if have forgotten anything. We will send any such items by owl immediately if the need arises. Wishing you the best of luck with the school term;  
All the best,  
Your Mother and Father. _

That was _it_. There was no mention of their opinions on the House he had been sorted into. There was no tone of disdain or severe disapproval for the House that would sufficiently serve as his 'home' for the next seven years. Present in the letter was only a sense of aloofness, of detachment and the subtle unwillingness to acknowledge the Sorting Hat's decision.

I looked over at the Gryffindor table and watched Percy read his letter with a smile. He _had_ forgotten something for the owl had delivered his Chudley Cannons jumper and a small sampling of their mother's cooking that she had taken the opportunity to slip in.

I sighed and returned to my letter. The neat and masculine scrawl confirmed my suspicion that it was my father whom had written the short evasive note. It was very like him to adamantly ignore the existence of something he didn't want to acknowledge, even though it wasn't really in his character to act cold towards people. Once, he ignored a huntsman spider the size of my fist crawling across the dinning room ceiling until it crawled onto his plate and forced him to leap back with a surprised scream. The task to deal with spiders was consequently usually left to my mother, that is, until Fred and George grew old and bold enough to find other uses for them.

I sighed again and felt my insides squirm uncomfortably about. The taste for food had suddenly, though not wholly unexpectedly left and I proceeded to fiddle with the plate of food in front of me. I ate in quick, miniscule bites whenever my stomach temporarily ceased with its acrobatics and the uneasiness quelled long enough for the hunger to overcome the nausea.

"You need to eat you know. You'll fall down the stairs if you don't."

Startled, I turned my head towards the speaker. I never really caught her face, or her name because by the time I twirled around to face her, she was running away from the Great Hall with a swish of black robes and a piece of toast in her hand.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Cain before sitting on my left.

I barely managed to swivel around to face him before his twin sat himself down on my right and began helping himself to the food at the breakfast table.

When I finished greeting Abel and turned around again to face Cain again.

"What's up with that expression?" He persisted expectantly.

"Nothing, never mind; chew with your mouth closed please."

"A letter from you parents? We got one too if it's any consolation." Abel's voice cut through the morning chatter upon him noticing the letter. He didn't make any move to read it like I feared he would, if only in jest, but instead passed over it in favour of a croissant.

"Ah yes. The ever elusive letter from the 'rents," mumbled Cain, his mouth still full of food.

"Don't bother thinking too hard about it. It's only week two. They can't be already too disappointed or proud of you yet."

Cain snorted in response to Abel's comment and immediately began choking.

"Don't kill yourself yet Cain, I die first remember?" Accompanying that question was Abel thumping Cain's back harder than necessary.

That was true. Only the day before last they had told me of their tragic infliction in the utmost confidence. When I asked them later why they would entrust such personal matters to a stranger they had known for a little over a week, they replied that they simply knew I was 'trustworthy'. When I asked them how they knew for certain, Abel replied that they just did.

In compliment to his twin's remark, Cain added, "And plus, I think we're going to be friends for a long time, don't you?"

In the face of their tragedy, my personal struggles seemed rather small, insignificant and earthly in comparison, and my circumstances trivial.

"Are you expecting anymore mail Tristan?"

I answered 'no' in confusion for who else would be sending anything to me?

"Well we certainly aren't and that bird looks like it's getting ready to nose dive into the pancakes."

The grey owl didn't. Instead it missed the pancakes by a few inches and landed crazily into the rather annoyed plate of Cain Alistair. After dropping its letter, it made a quick recovery from its crash in order to escape the growing fury and wrath of the Alistair twin.

Written in front of the envelope in a near illegible scrawl was my name and that being enough permission to open it, I began to read.

On the sheet of parchment in Mr. Willow's unmistakable scholar's penmanship was one phrase. One single phrase that both motivated and forced me to draw courage up from the depths of my abyss, from that little island in the quicksand sea and begin viewing my time here at Hogwarts with a little more optimism.

_ "Head first fearless."_

That was it. No other words were needed or wasted, not even a signature, because from those three words I instinctively knew everything that Mr. Willow meant to convey. My chest felt warm, like it was glowing and for the first time in two weeks a broad Weasley trademark grin stretched across my face.

"Head first fearless, huh," commented Abel while reading over my shoulder.

"Guess that explains the bird."

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One of my longest chapters yet ;) Please leave a review, it makes me feel like my writing is worthwhile.


	9. Sweetest Downfall

Chapter 9: Sweetest Downfall

_But we're cheating, cheating, cheating_

_I'm the hero of the story__  
Don't need to be saved_

~"Hero" by Regina Spektor

* * *

I _did_ trip down the stairs later that day as foretold by the anonymous girl. Although there really was something adrenaline-inducing about being told to metaphorically jump off a cliff, the body cannot sustain itself on euphoria alone. And in the split second that my happiness dwindled, the hunger came crashing down and I fell unceremoniously down the common room staircase. The room _had_ been empty, but there she was, anonymous girl from breakfast lecturing my undignified body sprawled across the floor about the benefits of eating three square meals a day and tutting me with the tone of her voice.

I didn't care. I was much too embarrassed to care. I just jumped up and fled.

In the last class of that day, History of Magic, I sat next to the window in the back corner of the room while the ghostly Professor droned on about the great tragedy at the Battle of Isenguard. His voice was the colour of whitewashed stone and there were no dips and lulls in his tone that illustrated the horrors and the sadness, the joys and the victories. He sounded like smoke. Like ash being blown into nothingness by the smallest puff of air; like memories drifting into obscurity.

To most it would have sounded like the whispers of sleep, but then again, the sound of tragedy being diminished to a monotone drone could only be heard by those who understood it. Like Abel.

And like Cain, named for the one who first killed his brother; the first murderer.

* * *

They had told me of their secret story two weeks ago on their birthday. Their birthday was always a grand affair because the majesty of their heritage demanded it and it was filled with golden lights. The entire Slytherin House was invited to the Alistair Manor along with their pedigreed families, each bearing gift worth over triple digits.

I came because I was their friend, but as soon as I became immersed in the dizzying array of chandeliers, champagne and gold-dusted finger delicacies, I regretted it slightly, but I was resolved to stand upright and not ruin Cain and Abel's birthday. I stood upright all night with only my pride as a crutch.

It took them three hours straight for them to make the first round of obligatory greetings and thank you's. Then, their manners and patience just worn out as mine were from standing in a corner of the suffocating room, found me and hauled me onto the balcony on the private side of the house.

We spent over an hour on the marble balcony, staring at the clear, bedazzled night sky that Lord Alistair had charmed. It was an interesting sight indeed, because there were rolling thunder clouds in every direction, but there was no storm for the Alistair's, only a serene silence and a gentle, magical breeze blowing the autumn leaves in intricate patterns.

We sat back to back in a triangle, drinks in hand and a bowl of caviar breadsticks between us.

Cain raised his glass and cried with a hysterical gusto, "to the worst day of my life!"

"Don't be so depressing Cain; it's the best day of mine. I survived another year. Here's to that."

"You don't ask many questions do you Tristan?"

"Don't tease him, Abel. That's what we like about him anyways".

Abel laughed in reply. "True, true."

"And we'll reward you for that Tristan. We'll express our thanks by telling you the family secret".

"Fair?"

I didn't mind either way. I didn't ask questions because I never wanted to and because I was simply content with just Cain and Abel and the security their characters brought me. I nodded.

"We were born on a cursed day. Whether our birth cursed it or whether it was always cursed, we will never know. It doesn't matter either way."

"We are cursed twins, as most twins are in the end. In the womb, twins will always fight for dominance, for more nutrients, for survival and sometimes one twin will win and absorb the other. Most times however, the twins are equal and you'll have two healthy beings who will share a strong bond throughout their lives born from the warring period they shared at the very beginning of their lives."

"That's awesome as it is, but the Alistair's have a special inherited gene that tends to screw the equilibrium up. In a normal, single embryo fetus, it doesn't do anything major and they'll grow up with a great affinity for magic, wandless sorcery especially."

"As a result, twins aren't common in the Alistair family at all; in fact we're the only documented pair. No one was expecting twins, even the healer didn't pick it up. I've always been living in the shadow of Abel, even there, at birth."

They stopped and no one spoke again for the next half hour, neither willing to confess the last, vital part to their tragedy. We starred hard at the tiny stars and each of us found a different sort of quiet consolation in them. Cain broke the silence.

"I am a murderer. I am killing Abel. I have been since even the womb and possibly, as our aunt claims, even before that."

"She says our spirits have been entwined since the beginning of times. Since the first martyr began calling for vengeance, our spirits have been in eternal battle, wrestling each other towards the final death and to justice."

"Since the time of the first Abel and Cain, we have passed through history in our constant war and today, living vessels have been granted to that war."

"Us" they whispered together in unison.

"Abel lives almost every minute of his life in pain because of me, because I am killing him and stealing his life force _just_ so that the original Cain can have his _victory_. I will suck even the very the marrow out of his bones and I cannot stop this. I can't stop _any of it_."

Cain's voice was breaking and then Abel cut it.

"Don't make it sound so melodramatic Cain. It doesn't hurt. I'm fine. I'm alive and I'm grateful for that. Merlin, Abel, you make us sound like a tragedy! We're_ not_. I'm alive. I'm fine. I'm alive Cain. I'm not dead and the reaper isn't haunting my footsteps. I walk and talk without tremor. Do I look like I'm in pain, Cain? I'm_ fine_."

I wasn't going to argue with Abel's tone. _No one_ argued with him when he was seriously angry. No one even offered up any resistance, not even to defend themselves, because his voice rang like the sound of pure justice calling, something no one could oppose, because it crashed on you like the merciless waves of the tyrant ocean, like the waves that smashed mountains.

"Abel?" An unsure, feminine voice cut through the clear, dark night. "You're needed. Your uncle wants you to meet another Unspeakable Minister".

He stood up abruptly in response, dusted his dress pants and followed the elegant, woman draped in bronze silk, owing up to his inheritance and maintaining the portrait of a perfect gentleman as he escorted her back into the ballroom.

Cain let out a sarcastic, tortured laugh once Abel was far out of earshot.

"Don't let him fool you. He's not fine. He's no where near _fine_. What does it feel like to be not in pain to someone who has always been in pain? For Merlin's sake, he coughs out over a gallon in blood every three days! He's not _fine_. He's never been fine and it's all my damn fault. I want to kill myself every time I see him like that, his hacking cough echoing into the hallway. Or when he has one of those fevers and he screams himself hoarse because it feels like someone if tearing him apart from the inside with a blunt, hooked, knife."

Cain's voice had reached an agonizing crescendo, but then he was suddenly quiet and still. I dared a glance at him and instantly regretted it. The angst rolling off his lamenting, tormented pose was worse now that he was eerily quiet and the air around him was being smothered by the overwhelming sadness.

"But even on the worst of days, I won't kill myself to end his misery. Because he made me promise on the worst of his days that I wouldn't ever, that I wouldn't ever dare."

He choked out another one of those sad, sad laughs.

"I'm going to kill him, Tristan. Every breath I draw pushes him closer to death and there's nothing I can do about this accursed fate. He says he doesn't care. He keeps telling me to let him love every moment of his pathetic 'life' and that at the end, somehow everything would balance out and it wouldn't matter. And that then, he would still love me on his death bed, knowing I killed him with my laughter and smiles and my every minute of existence. I_ hate_ it."

His voice had become startlingly quiet and the calm was unnerving.

"Yell," I said.

"What?"

"Yell," I repeated.

"Tristan? What are you on about?"

"How much do you hate it? Show it by how loud you scream. Loud enough so that the heavens can hear your crying at them."

Before Cain could gather his wits, I cast quick silencing charm on the door and in a leap of faith and sudden strength, hauled him towards the edge of the balcony.

"Yell."

And he did. At first it was a little strangled and embarrassed, but then he no longer cared. And his scream echoed throughout the black landscape.

Once he was done, he smiled and left me in my thoughts alone on the large and frighteningly white balcony.

There was something wrong with his silence. I couldn't pin point what exactly, but I knew that there was something wrong with it. Something dangerous was lurking below that calm and although I had no evidence and I had only glimpsed it momentarily, I could hear the sound of peril turning the cogs of a wicked destiny.

* * *

I tread not softly  
in self's world.  
Loud, my thunder, the world  
quakes, shifts for me  
but tread softly, you, visitor.  
walk quietly  
among my misty people 


End file.
